THE "GENUS" BOY.--THE ONLY ONE I OBJECT TO.--WHAT BOYS WORK FOR. Boys lose their charm when they get fifteen or sixteen years of age. The clever ones, no doubt, become more interesting to the teacher, but they no longer belong to the _genus_ boy that you love for his very defects as much as for his good qualities. I call "boys" that delightful, lovable race of young scamps from eleven to fourteen years old. At that age all have redeeming points, and all are lovable. I never objected to any, except perhaps to those who aimed at perfection, especially the ones who were successful in their efforts. For my part, I like a boy with a redeeming fault or two. By "boys" I mean little fellows who manage, after a game of football, to get their right arm out of order, that they may be excused writing their exercises for a week or so; who do not work because they have an examination to prepare, but because you offer them an inducement to do so, whether in the shape of rewards, or maybe something less pleasant you may keep in your cupboard. V. SCHOOL BOYS I HAVE MET.--PROMISING BRITONS.--SLY-BOOTS.--TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD.--"NO, THANKS, WE MAKES IT."--FRENCH DICTIONARIES.--A NAUGHTY BOY.--MOTHERS' PETS.--DIRTY BUT BEAUTIFUL.--JOHN BULLY.--HIGH COLLARS AND BRAINS.--DICTATION AND ITS TRIALS.--NOT TO BE TAKEN IN.--UNLUCKY BOYS.--THE USE OF TWO EARS.--A BOY WITH ONE IDEA.--MASTER WHIRLIGIG.--THE INFLUENCE OF ATHLETICS.--A GOOD SITUATION.--A SHREWD BOY OF BUSINESS.--MASTER ALGERNON CADWALADR SMYTH, AND OTHER TYPICAL SCHOOLBOYS. Master Johnny Bull is a good little boy who sometimes makes slips in his exercises, but mistakes--never. He occasionally forgets his lesson, but he always "knows" it. "Do you know your lesson?" you will ask him. "Yes, sir," he will reply. "But you can't say it." "Please, sir, I forget it now." Memory is his weak point. He has done his best, whatever the result may be. Last night he knew his lesson perfectly; the proof is that he said it to his mother, and that the excellent lady told him he knew it very well. Again this morning, as he was in the train coming to school, he repeated it to himself, and he did not make one mistake. He knows he didn't. * * * * * If he has done but two sentences of his home work, "he is afraid" he has not quite finished his exercise. "But, my dear boy, you have written but two sentences." "Is that all?" he will inquire. "That is all." "Please, sir, I thought I had done more than that." And he looks at it on all sides, turns it to the right, to the left, upside down; he reads it forwards, he reads it backwards. No use; he can't make it out. All at once, however, he will remember that he had a bad headache last night, or maybe a bilious attack. The bilious attack is to the English schoolboy what the _migraine_ is to the dear ladies of France: a good maid-of-all-work. * * * * *